


Under the Full Moon

by Dolimir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-07
Updated: 2011-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-20 05:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/209117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolimir/pseuds/Dolimir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Sometimes evil touches the lives of the most ordinary of folks. How does a reasonably intelligent woman view the Winchester boys when they cross her path?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Full Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A big round of thanks goes to Dayspring for audiencing this puppy for me and for answering my questions truthfully.

Have you ever noticed that large people rarely survive in action movies? I’m not talking about pleasantly plump people, or big boned people, but really large ones. And if, by some miracle, they do survive the ship sinking or the volcano blowing up, it’s because they were devious or pathetic in some way guaranteed to make the audience write them off as irrelevant.

Speaking of being dismissed out of hand, don’t even get me started on the medical profession that somehow equates obesity with hypochondria. Large people are often considered whiny flakes. Why? I don’t know. Weight doesn’t affect one’s brain.

So, when Sheriff Hobson refuses to take my claims that some large predator has been killing my chickens seriously, it’s all I can do not to completely lose my shit.

He dismisses me by walking back into his office, without even bothering to take a report or to send a deputy out to my place.

It’s not like I’m mutilating my own damn chickens, for goodness sake!

And the tracks I’m finding, the tracks I’ve taken pictures of to show the red-neck sheriff that runs our quaint little town, are friggin’ huge. Now you can’t tell me it’s beyond the realm of possibility that some circus or zoo animal escaped and is munching on my hens for snacks. Hell, according to the news, people are looking for more and more exotic pets. It could be a bobcat or a domesticated wolf that was abandoned with all the other pets that somehow end up in the country instead of the pound. Although, I must say I it would have to be an extremely large wolf.

Mary Kay, my high school nemesis, continues to buff her nails as she sits behind the front desk. “Have you noticed Edna Ann that your chickens only get mutilated during full moons? Maybe you got yourself a werewolf.”

She leans so far back in her chair, braying with laughter, that I will admit to having the unchristian thought of hoping she’d flip herself onto the floor. But apparently that doesn’t happen to skinny ho’s, just large women like me.

I gather my purse off the counter and leave, ignoring the fact that the Sheriff has joined Mary Kay in laughter.

Werewolf.

Now, while I will admit to being something of a scifi buff, I’m not really that big into horror. But I gotta admit, Mary Kay, the ho, totally noticed something I hadn’t. Of course, she’s also into all that new agey horoscope stuff, so it makes a certain amount of sense.

As soon as I get home, I google a moon calendar and pull out my notes.

Sure as shit, the little skank was right.

This, of course, leads me to research werewolves. Good Lord Almighty, there are a lot of websites dealing with werewolves. Hell, when I typed in ‘kill werewolves’ I came up with over a million hits. For a mythical creature that sure is a lot of information.

Silver seems like a pretty universal way to kill one, and while I know I could go down to Betty’s Antiques and buy some silver to melt down, it doesn’t change the fact that a werewolf is essentially just a cursed human. The odds of it being someone in my community are pretty good. And according to the info I gathered, they may or may not even be aware that they turn into something big, hairy and really craving chicken during a full moon.

How am I supposed to kill a fellow human being? Hell, they can have the chickens as far as I’m concerned. But what happens if it (he or she) decides to move on to pets or, God forbid, children.

My brief research indicates there doesn’t seem to be a cure for lycanthopy.

Charming.

In the meantime, I guess I’ll be investing in a better pen for the girls.

 

~ * ~

 

People are always surprised by how laid back I am. I’ve always figured that life is too short to get worked up about things. And other than Mary Kay, the ho, I get along with everyone. Hell, I even get along with my ex-husband, despite the fact that he slept with Mary Kay when I was seven months pregnant.

But I swear on my grandmother’s grave that my resistance to killing that damn werewolf is eroding away in leaps and bounds.

After six months, I’ve determined that it is, indeed, a werewolf. Not that you’ll ever hear me admit it in public. I’m fairly certain that large women do not look good in straightjackets. But I’ve seen it enough times to know what I know.

Apparently, werewolves are wolves for three nights: the night before a full moon, the night of the full moon and the night after.

In the six months since I’ve realized what it was, I’ve seen it approximately a dozen times.

The first month it went after my chickens again, but was frustrated by the fact that I had built one serious, kick-ass coop. In retaliation, it tore down my fence.

I put up an electric fence during month two and got great satisfaction from shocking the crap out of it when it came sniffing too close to my coop again. I kept expecting to see someone in town with singed eyebrows, but I never did.

After that it basically stalked around my yard, causing whatever mischief it could, then headed out for easier game. As I predicted, it started going after pets and finally worked its way up to cows.

When people, other than me, started complaining, the sheriff started investigating. But see, here’s the rub. Cows die on the second or third night of the cycle and the sheriff investigates for a week or so, but doesn’t find anything because, of course, the werewolf has reverted back to human form.

The only consequence of the investigation so far is that the county has taken a really hard line about abandon pets. It saddens me at the number of dogs that have been put down since the werewolf started bothering other folk. I suppose, in some ways, it’s more humane to put them down; better than starving, going feral or being eaten by a werewolf. Although, I will admit to dropping several emails to the county’s local rescue organizations to see if they can stage some sort of intervention.

People are starting to get frustrated, although the Sheriff doesn’t seem to be that concerned. If I were a suspicious person, I’d think the Sheriff knows who the werewolf is and is running some sort of interference for it.

Good thing I’m not suspicious.

 

~ * ~

 

I’m baking cookies for this Saturday’s church social when my doorbell rings. I have to admit it startles me. With a town as small as ours, we don’t get many door-to-door salesmen, or even evangelists for that matter, and in this day and age neighbors rarely show up without calling first.

I grab a towel and wipe my hands as I head for the screen door. To my surprise, there are two young men standing on my stoop.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the taller of the two says. “We’re from Wildlife and Game.”

Now, if they’re from Wildlife and Game, then I’m a runway model.

“May I see your badges, please?”

Both men start to flash me their badges, but I open the screen door a crack and silently demand they hand them to me.

A small voice in the back of my head says I should lock the doors and hide, but they don’t strike me as dangerous. They may be con men, but I don’t think I need to worry about my safety.

The taller of the two, one Agent Bon Scott, appears to be younger than his companion. He has a kind, earnest face and has hair that should either be allowed to grow out or be cut short. It’s sort of floppy looking the way it is.

The shorter man, and there’s no way on God’s green earth he can be considered short, although next to his companion he appears to be, is gorgeous. I mean, drop dead, wish-I-was-fifteen-years-younger-and-a-hundred-and-fifty-pounds-lighter gorgeous. His badge identifies him as Christopher Slade.

While the badges look authentic, I can’t help but be annoyed.

“Is this some sort of joke? Did Mary Kay put you up to this?” I flap the badges back and forth, but make no attempt to hand them back.

“No, ma’am,” Agent Scott says in what I’m sure he considers a reassuring voice.

“Don’t lie to me, boy. I have a cast iron skillet in the kitchen that I’m not afraid to use upside your head unless you start telling me the truth.”

Agent Slade frowns, clearly not liking my threat to his partner. I watch in amazement as the anger dissipates from his face. His face softens, making him, if even possible, seem more beautiful. He gives me a smile that says he’s been looking forward to meeting me and if I’d only give him a chance he’d rock my world.

I’m torn between astonishment, laughter and anger. Astonishment that he actually thinks this tactic might work. Anger because it has the feel of ‘taking one for the team,’ and laughter because it’s just too ridiculous.

I decide to go with laughter, which doesn’t please either boy. Opening the screen, I wave them inside then point them to the parlor. Yes, I have a parlor. Don’t give me any grief about it. I live in the South. It’s an old house. Deal with it.

I walk into the kitchen, put three glasses onto a tray and pull a pitcher of my lemonade from the refrigerator, a bowl of ice from the freezer and a plate of cookies from the counter.

“I have eighty-seven dollars in the cookie jar,” I tell them as I walk into the room. “The ring on my hand is probably worth a couple of thousand, but it was my mama’s and I’m rather attached to it.”

I put the tray on the table, then dip each glass into the bowl of ice and pour the lemonade. “Other than that, I don’t own anything that’s worth more than a hundred dollars if’n you were to buy it at a garage sale. But you’re welcome to whatever you want.”

I hand them each a glass and try not to snicker about the astonished looks on their faces.

“We’re not here to rob you, Ms. Conners,” Slade tells me. His features have gone back to annoyed, but they relax when he takes a sip from his glass. No one can stay cranky after drinking my strawberry lemonade, and that’s a fact.

“I didn’t say you were here to steal from me.” I put the plate of cookies between them and watch Scott frown at Slade when the shorter one snags a cookie.

“We’re not here to con you either, Ms. Conners,” Scott tells me earnestly.

I look at his dewy eyes, shake my head and toss their badges back to them one at a time. “Son, you’ve already attempted to con me. The thing I want to know is what you want. Since I don’t know, I figured I’d lay my cards on the table.”

Slade, who is making appreciative noises around an iced lemon cookie, stops chewing for a moment. “I like you.”

“Dean--”

Okay, so not Christopher. Good to know.

Dean finishes off his cookie, wipes his hand on his jeans, then stretches it toward me.

Curious as to how this will play out, I lean forward and shake it, while he makes his re-introductions.

“I’m Dean. This is my brother, Sam.”

“Annie,” I tell him back. “Although if you talked to anyone in town, they probably called me Edna Ann. Yes, it’s my name, but I hate it, which is probably why certain folk refuse to drop it, although anyone named after a cosmetic company really doesn’t have room to talk.”

“Annie,” Dean repeats. Sitting back, he snags another cookie. “We hear you’ve been having a predator problem lately.”

I study their faces. There’s something about them, something I can’t quite put my finger on, but I decide to trust them. “Every full moon,” I tell him. “It took me a couple of months to figure it out, but I’m pretty sure it’s a werewolf. Each cycle, it usually swings by here first, to see if it can catch any of the hens out of the pen, but I lock them up before the sun sets.”

Sam’s eyebrows disappear under his bangs, and while he opens his mouth to speak, he doesn’t actually say anything.

“Any idea who it is?” Dean asks casually.

“No, but I wish to God I did. It killed nearly two dozen of my hens before I figured out what it was. I suspect…I really shouldn’t talk out of turn, but I suspect the Sheriff knows who it is and is covering for him…or her.”

Sam looks back and forth between Dean and I. Finally, he turns his head and whispers harshly at his brother. “Dean.”

Dean speaks so softly that I’m not positive I heard him correctly, and am left to wonder if ‘Ronald’ is some sort of code word, but whatever it is, his brother closes his mouth and says nothing further.

“I know who it isn’t.”

The both look at me, their eyebrows cocked curiously.

“Yeah, I know that’s not real helpful, but we’re a town of about five hundred, if’n you include the neighboring farms, but I’ve whittled the list of suspects down to about a hundred, only about a dozen of which the sheriff would be willing to stick his neck out for…that is, if’n I were a suspicious person and thought he might be involved somehow.”

Dean smirks and even Sam smiles a little bit.

“Care to share?” Dean asks.

I smile at both of them, but feel it slowly fade.

“What is it?” Sam leans forward, his face one of true concern.

“You’re here to kill it, right?”

Dean starts to speak, but Sam cuts him off before he can utter a word. “In all our research, and research done by others like us, we’ve never found a way to reverse the effects. And believe me, we’ve looked.”

There’s a world of pain in the young man’s eyes and I can’t help but reach toward him. He seems surprised, and a little reluctant, but he accepts my hand. I give him a little squeeze and release him, knowing he wouldn’t be comfortable with anything more.

“The odds are high that it’ll eventually start killing humans,” Dean adds quietly. “I’m actually surprised it hasn’t done so yet. Probably because there’s a lot of game in the area. But Annie, it’ll eventually get lazy and start seeking easier prey.”

“I know,” I say. “But couldn’t doctors…”

“But the government…” Sam starts to counter.

“Nuff said.” I get to my feet, but wave at them to stay seated. I quickly make my way to my den and gather my research. When I get back to the parlor, I hand it to Sam who strikes me as the more studious of the two.

“The short list is on the green sheet. The newspaper articles are about events that happened at night during the cycle, so you can see who I eliminated and why.”

Sam skims through my research. “This is very thorough, Annie. I mean, really thorough.” He looks over at Dean. “Heck, even Bobby would be impressed.”

I don’t know who Bobby is, but I can feel myself blush, which is stupid, but hey, I’m human.

“Thank you, Annie. This will be a tremendous help.”

“After you boys take care of it, ya’ll stop by again and I’ll fix you a home cooked meal before you head out.”

Sam stood, my folder looking small in his hands. “We’ll do that.”

As they made their way to the door I find myself feeling a mite anxious. “Boys?”

They both turn toward me. “Yes, ma’am.” It’s cute how they say it at the same time and with the same inflection.

“Be careful who you ask questions.”

“We will,” Dean says. And I can tell what he means is that it’s not their first rodeo, but still I worry.

“Boys--”

“Ma’am,” Sam acknowledges.

“Whoever it is, they might not be aware…”

Sam nods.

“You won’t let them suffer. You’ll do it right quick?”

“As quickly as possible,” Dean assures me.

Nodding, I shoo them toward the door. “You take care of yourselves.”

 

~ * ~

 

Looking out my kitchen window, I can’t help but wonder where the boys are. It’s been almost a week since they arrived, and last night was the first night of the cycle. No one turned up missing or dead this morning, which probably means they didn’t find it. News spreads quickly in a small town like this, so I’d know if there’d been any altercations last night. And there weren’t.

The boys apparently continued to use their fake ids and didn’t have any problems with anyone else questioning their validity. Of course, the one radio station that comes in clearly is a country one, which plays gospel on weekends. If the weather isn’t too bad, we can also get NPR. Apparently we don’t have any other old school rock and roll fans in the area.

Marie, the waitress down at the café by the highway, thinks the boys are adorable. She has two boys about their same age and is missing them something fierce. No doubt she is stuffing our fake agents with free pie. They both strike me as pie eating boys.

Several young women have been charmed by them, and rumor has it that Missy Hardine might have gone a mite further than being charmed by Agent Slade. Not that I blame her. Hell, I’d tap that and I haven’t tapped anything in almost two decades. Shut up! Let me have my fantasy!

I hear a car rumble and wonder if the boys might be stopping by, but instead of an Impala, and honestly, how folks can think that’s an official government vehicle is beyond me, I see my son’s hayseed truck and know it’s my daughter-in-law stopping by for our weekly Scrabble game.

I glance nervously at the clock. The wolf has never shown before ten, and it’s only eight-thirty now. I move toward the backdoor, grinning in anticipation of our game. Ashley is staying with her folks while Tyler is overseas, serving our country. Her folks live nearly fifty miles away, but being the good girl she is, she stops by every Friday night and spends Saturday with me before she heads back home to go to church with her folks.

A lot of mothers resent their daughter-in-laws. Me, I adore mine. She’s a good woman: solid, dependable, with a wicked sense of humor. And according to my son, has killer legs.

Ever since they started dating, back in junior high, she and I have been as thick as thieves, and I’m happy to say that bond has only deepened over time. Even with her folks moving a couple of towns away in an effort to find better jobs hasn’t kept us from getting together. God help me if Tyler and Ashley should ever get a divorce as I ain’t willing to let either of them go.

Ashley’s the only person I’ve told about my werewolf problem. Well, other than the boys. Instead of scoffing, she’s been invaluable to me with me research. Heck, she’s even seen it during one of her visits, which probably went a long way to reassure her that I’m not losing my mind.

I can tell by her excited face she’s got news for me.

You know, I’ve heard people talk about how reality seems to slow in an emergency situation. I’ve never really given the phenomena much thought, but as I open my screen door to greet her my world slows so much that I halfway expect to find myself in the middle of one of the Matrix movies.

I see Ashley grin at me as she shuts the driver’s side door. I see the werewolf burst forward from a nearby bush, making me realize it had been laying in wait. I can feel the weight of my cast iron skillet in my hand.

A small voice in the back of my head reminds me that large women never survive horror movies, but I find I don’t much care. The dear Lord never blessed me with my own daughter, until Ashley, and I’ll be damned to hell if I let some overgrown chicken mangler take her from me, cursed human or not.

I leap off the porch and swing the skillet with everything I have, and somehow manage to hit it full on in the face. I can hear Ashley screaming, but I can’t afford to take my eyes off the creature.

“Get in the house!”

I swing again even as the werewolf continues to spin from the first impact and manage to hit it in the back of the head.

Forget fair play.

I want this thing eating dirt.

The second blow knocks it to its knees and I swing yet again, hearing a bone crunch as I connect.

The werewolf screams in anger and strikes out blindly, managing to rip not only a good-size chunk out of my side, but out of my favorite shirt as well. Odd what thoughts cross your mind when you’re in a life-or-death situation.

I know my wound is going to hurt like hell. Heck, it’s probably going to kill me, but I got so much adrenaline flowing through me at the moment that I know, or at least hope, I have one or two more swings in me before I go down.

I swing, but miss, and the stretching brings all the pain to the fore, making me realize that two swings may have been a tad overly optimistic on my part.

An involuntary sob escapes me as I stumble, trying to get back to the house. I know I’m not going to make it, but damn if I’m going to give up to a supposedly mythical creature without a fight.

The werewolf crouches, then starts to spring forward, but stops abruptly, as if hitting an invisible wall. Almost after the fact, I hear the gun shot.

I see Slade…Dean, gun arm extended, ready to take another shot, but it’s not necessary.

As quickly as the adrenaline came, it leaves and I find myself on my knees. I try to move, but the only thing I manage to do is drop my skillet and fall forward. But as odd as it may sound, I am rather comforted by the fact that the heroes tried to save the large woman, even if they didn’t succeed – they tried.

Gentle hands catch me before I can plant my face in the dirt, then tenderly turn me so I’m looking upward.

Sam.

“Check on Ashley.” I don’t know if I managed to get the words out or not as I can’t hear my voice over the heartbeat drumming in my ears.

“I’m okay, Mama. I’m okay.”

I turn my head and see Ashley kneeling on the ground beside us. She’s pawing at my arms like she wants to gather me up and hold me tight.

Sweet, sweet child.

“Tell, Tyler--”

“No!” she practically screams at me. “I’m not telling him nothing. You are.” Her voice grows softer. “I can’t believe you saved me.”

I try to reach for her, but I can barely lift my arm. Ashley takes my hand and presses it against her chest.

“Baby girl.” I try to convey everything she means to me in those two words as the edges of my world grow out of focus.

Ashley is screaming as the darkness overtakes me. I can hear Sam shouting my name and then his brother’s, but I don’t have the strength to tell any of them not to worry.

 

~ * ~

 

A low murmuring buzzes around the edge of my consciousness. I can hear the rhythmic beeps of a heart monitor and am confused. County is the closest hospital to me and while it’s not far as the crow flies, it takes nearly forty-five minutes to reach it by back roads.

There’s no possible way…

I mean, could I have…

Curious, I stretch toward consciousness.

The world isn’t bright, like I expected, when I blink my eyes open.

I give myself a moment to focus, then look around the room and discover that I’m in a hospital. My face is uncomfortable, and I realize I have an oxygen mask over my face.

When I try to move my hand, intent on pulling the damn contraption off my face, I encounter a solid presence. Looking down, I see a head.

Before I can even begin to guess who it might belong to, it pops up and I find myself staring into the beautiful blue eyes of my son.

Tyler pushes himself out of the chair beside my bed, then leans forward and wraps his arms around me. I try, unsuccessfully, to hold onto his uniform as he squeezes the stuffing out of me. I expected to wake up in the warm embrace of my savior, but waking up in the arms of my son will beat heaven every single time.

When Tyler finally starts to pull away, I try to protest, but he shushes me, then sits on the edge of my bed, still fiercely holding onto my hand.

“Mama?”

I turn my head and find Ashley standing in the doorway, her hands occupied with two Styrofoam cups, which she all but flings onto the table beside the bed. She then scrambles onto the mattress, opposite her husband. “Thank God, you’re finally awake!”

“Wha--”

Feeling the oxygen mask vibrate over my face, I raise my left hand to remove it, but Tyler puts his hand over mine. I frown at him and try to smack his hand, but my fingers barely flutter. Ashley gently moves Tyler’s hand, then removes my mask. She stretches down the bed and pulls the roll away table closer and busies herself pouring me some water out of the pitcher, finding me a straw and bringing it to my lips.

Best daughter-in-law ever.

“You’ve been in a medically induced coma for almost two weeks,” she tells me. “I sent for Tyler and he’s on emergency leave from the service. The doctor really had a hard time staying on top of the infection. He says he’s never seen anything like it before.”

I glance at Tyler, then back to Ashley.

“He knows. I told him everything. I then made him call Sam.”

“Who was--”

“Peter Reynolds.”

Which makes sense. He was the sheriff’s first wife’s brother-in-law.

“The boys?”

Ashley grins wickedly. “The ‘agents’ disposed of the wolf after determining it wasn’t rabid. The sheriff never even saw the body.”

When Tyler speaks I can tell he’s angry, but is doing his best to keep a rein on it. “And while the sheriff wasn’t happy, there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, not without admitting he knew exactly what was happening.”

“Daddy’s already filed a discrimination claim against the Sheriff’s Department for not taking your earlier reports seriously.” Ashley sets the water glass back on the table. “He’s also filed the appropriate paperwork to have the sheriff removed from office. The town council is going to vote on it at the end of the month, but with the threat of a lawsuit hanging over the town, I think we can consider it a done deal.”

I wish I could say I’m elated, but I’m not. A man’s career is in ruins, another is dead, and while I won’t have to worry about my chickens in the near future, I don’t much feel like celebrating.

Looking up at Tyler, I move my hand toward his. He picks it up and wraps both of his hands around mine.

“How long?”

“I’m not going back, ma. You’ve been hurt bad. It’s going to take a while for you to get back on your feet. My enlistment is up next month and the service is going to waive my remaining time.”

“What are you going to do?” Tyler had wanted to be a career military man for as long as I can remember. Upon retirement, he’d always told me that he thought he might seriously look into politics. The thought of his giving up his dreams for me makes me want to weep, so I’m a mite confused when he graces me with a brilliant smile.

“I’m thinking Sheriff Conners has a nice ring to it. Don’t you?”

And you know what? This movie isn’t ending so badly after all.


End file.
